


The March of the Minutemen

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Fallout Wolf [1]
Category: Fallout 4, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fallout, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:32:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 2261, Scott McCall, a farm boy from a quiet settlement with a debt to repay, and “Stiles” Stilinski, a street urchin from Diamond City stumble headfirst into the dangerous world of the Minutemen. They encounter dangers they’ve only ever dreamed of in their quest to protect the Commonwealth, but a new threat is looming over the horizon, one bigger than either Scott or Stiles could ever imagine. When escape is no longer an option, and victory an impossibility, how much will they have to sacrifice in order to survive?</p><p>Prologue of 'The New Old World.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The stranger might as well have set off a flare gun. Stiles would have spotted him anywhere, faster than he could find his own ass. Everything about him was off, from his floppy hair and slack jaw to his stunned look of awe that better suited newborn brahmin. From his dusty shoes that looked like they were about to fall apart, to the rusted pipe pistol hanging off of his belt that was almost as obvious as his purse, it all screamed the same thing. _Outsider._ He’d obviously never been inside The Wall before. Stiles would go as far as to reckon he’d never seen a city, period. Maybe he was a settlement boy or one of those vault dwellers that kept popping up that were either scared of their own shadow or really, really creepy. The boy was a walking target, and honestly, it was just Stiles’s civic duty to lend a hand. Life was hard in Diamond City. The sooner the outsider learned his lesson, the better.

No one turned to look as he made his way towards his target. Stiles was almost sorry for him. Almost. It was just a simple matter of getting his hands on his gun, and plucking it out of his holster before he even noticed. Stiles reached out… And got punched in the throat. It happened so quickly, he didn’t know what hit him. One moment he was about to make the easiest swipe of the century, the next he was grabbing his neck and trying to hack out a lung. The stranger fought back with clumsy ferocity and more than enough enthusiasm to make up for it. Stiles dove for his pistol, but before he could blink, he was on his back, staring up at the morning sky when a butt filled with stone dropped on his belly.

“Get off!” Stiles squawked, and the other boy looked so shocked by it, it took him a second to pick up his gun. The would-be thief glared it down bitterly.

“Who are you?” The stranger demanded, but he acted like none of the hard-edged criminals who shot people at point-blank range that Stiles had heard war stories about.

 “I’m the guy you nearly mauled to death, when _you_ were breaking the law. Weapons aren’t allowed in this sector of the city.”

“That’s bullcrap.” The stranger still flushed, his cheeks suddenly a dark red that left Stiles with smug satisfaction. It didn’t last long. Just a few paces behind them, that little runt ‘Turo snorted from the sidelines (never mind that he towered over Stiles). He didn’t even have to step out of his uncle’s store.

“That _is_ bullcrap. You gotta lying snake in the grass, and he was totally trying to rob you. I saw it all.” Stiles squawked, louder this time, and the stranger’s expression pinched, self-righteously. He steadied his aiming hand. ‘Turo only laughed. “Maybe you should take him down to the Colonial Taphouse when you go. The Minutemen’ll know what to do with him.”

Stiles’s eyes bugged out of their sockets, and he whipped his head around so fast, his neck creaked. “You’re a Minuteman?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Scott here’s a recruit,” ‘Turo piped up, far too pleased by this situation than anyone (other than maybe Stiles) had any right to be. “Think of how good it’ll look if you bring in a bonafide criminal, really start your career off strong. Maybe they’ll toss him in jail and throw away the key, or hey, they do hangings sometimes, if you wanna stick around for that?”

Stiles made a face, but the stranger ( _Scott_ , his mind supplied) looked uneasy. He rolled off of Stiles, looking at him with so much doubt, Stiles could practically taste it, but Scott’s tone didn’t falter.

“If I see you again, I’ll have you arrested.” It sounded a lot braver in Scott’s head, but this was all a misunderstanding. Scott knew he was being generous with the term, and he suspected his chain was being yanked, but in the odd chance the merchant was right, he really didn’t want some guy killed just for going after his old rusty handgun. That was a terrible thing to die over. Stiles was probably an awful thief anyway if he thought it was worth stealing. Scott straightened his posture, and Stiles was quietly pleased that he was so much taller than him. “Just stay out of my way.”

Turo pointed Scott in the right direction, grinning at his back even after the outsider sent them both one final suspicious glance, but he grumbled under his breath just for Stiles’s benefit. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Stiles didn’t. Stiles didn’t say much of anything. Before Turo could stop him, he took off running. “Hey, hey Scott! Scott!”

Turo rolled his eyes so hard, but Scott looked at Stiles like he was radioactive, so he won more points in the dramedy department. Stiles bulldozed him before he could protest, panting through his whole explanation. It was as compelling as he could be, given current circumstances. “Look kid, don’t mean to burst your bubble, but you don’t have what it takes to be a Minuteman. You should crawl back to whatever settlement you dragged yourself out of before you get hurt.”

“Wow.” Scott said, crossing his arms over his chest. The sad part was that he wasn’t completely surprised. “I took you down without any problem.”

Stiles had no idea why he was trying. He pointed an accusing figure in the jerk’s face. “Well that’s different. I was just testing you, and you failed.”

“By beating you.”

“You _failed._ I’m trying to help you here. You’re not gonna survive the Minutemen. No one does! So just, go, start a farm. Ride a Brahmin. Something.”

If Scott squinted at him any harder, his eyes would pop, but Stiles stood by his guns. If it wasn’t good enough for the farm boy, then he was as good as dead, and that wasn’t Stiles’s business. He did his good deed for the month. He could go home. Then Scott let out a tired sigh, and his shoulders slumped. “Look, dude, I’ve been on the road for three days, and I just. I want to help people, and the Minutemen do good work. They’re… They’re the sort of people the Commonwealth needs, so can you quit this?”

“Are you avenging some dead relative?”

“ _No_ , I’m not. This isn’t a joke. I’m just trying to do the right thing.” Scott’s expression soured. It had been a long time since Stiles had heard those words, unironically to boot. Scott wasn’t weighed down by the bitter stab of alcohol, either. “You can make fun of me all you want, but-“

“I’m not. Making fun of you that is,” Stiles interrupted, pursing his lips. Scott looked at him for a long time, but the lines on his brow smoothed. He’d stop pouting so much, too. That was always a plus.

“Really?”

“Really. Are you sure about this?”

“Dead sure.”

_Oh you’re going to be dead something all right._ “Fine. Follow me, before I change my mind. I know a short cut.”

Scott watch him dubiously, but he cracked the first smiles Stiles had ever seen on his face, it left the would-be thief speechless with how easily it brightened up everything. Stiles suspected that smile could charm the scales off a fish if Scott so pleased. “If you try anything funny, I’ll sit on you again.”

“Ha… Ha, _ha._ Outsider’s got jokes.”

They cut through the marketplace, weaving down a meandering path through stalls and alleys, cutting what Scott’s travel time would have been by about half. Scott’s head was spinning. He’d never seen so many people before, or so many things, but when the path opened up, leading them to their destination, the Colonial Taphouse took his breath away, but not because of the metal and brick that held it together. There was a whole platoon of Minutemen that had taken refuge at the Tavern, refilling their supplies, eating their fill, and most importantly, taking in recruits. At the center of it all was General Deaton, a stout man with a steady gaze with a quietly commanding presence, even after he’d tucked himself into the corner of the room.

Scott fidgeted nervously. This was everything he’d wanted, everything he’d been fighting for since that wandering group of feral ghouls stumbled into their home. The Minutemen were the only reason they’d survived. Their example had motivated Scott to do better, to kiss his mother goodbye and strive to make a difference in the world they lived in. Movement at his periphery startled him, and he turned as Stiles scuffed the heel of his shoe against the ground, kicking up dirt. He looked like he’d bitten into a lemon, but his voice was heavy with something Scott didn’t recognize. “Look… Think this through, dude. The Minutemen, they’re the real deal.”

“I know they are,” Scott admitted, managing another smile. “I’m not taking this lightly, Stiles, and I don’t think you are too. Thank you for your help. You’re pretty bad, but you’re not all bad. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

That grin made Stiles’s heart do something, or maybe he’d just been spending too much time chewing on fried squirrel. Whatever the reason, it made him reckless, made him _stupid._ Even though he’d lived in Diamond City his whole life, it had stopped feeling like home long ago. At least he knew that there was one person who would think him brave.

Stiles’s fate was sealed, and when Scott introduced himself to General Deaton, he wasn’t alone.

“General Deaton? Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski, signing up for duty, sir.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Nice to meet you boys.” General Deaton nodded. “The Minutemen are always looking for recruits, and we’d be happy to have you. However, you should know that we expect a certain level of dedication. If you join us, we will expect you to take the same risks we do, for all the people we help. Not just the ones you’d like.”

Scott nodded solemnly, but he was shaking with nerves he couldn’t think to quell. He had to fight to keep the grin off his face, sure he was going to burst with excitement at any point. Stiles looked like he’d got a face full of dog fart.

“I understand, sir. I’ll do my best, and I’m willing to work for anyone. The Minutemen helped our settlement over at Nut Hill, and I owe a lot to you guys. I’m good with building things, and farming, and we had a doctor back home who taught me things. I want to help any way I can, sir.”

“Good lad. That’s impressive. I’m sure we can find a place for you, and we can do something about that pistol of yours, Mr. McCall.” Scott pinked all over again, but didn’t protest. Deaton turned to his companion. “Stilinski, are you related to Frank Stilinski?

“Yes, sir. My dad.” The respect in Stiles’s tone seemed out of place, even to someone who barely knew him. It was quickly apparent that Scott had a habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and the concern on his face made Stiles want to look away. He could focus on Deaton’s shiny bald head instead.

Deaton nodded in understanding, but he didn’t look surprised. “He was a good man. Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then do him proud. We’ll be leaving in two hours. If there’s anything you need in the city, grab it now, but I recommend travelling light.”

The boys muttered their thanks, and head towards the door at the same time. Stiles still startled when Scott took his hand and held it the whole way out. Scott rounded on him almost as soon as they were out in the open, big brown eyes wide and beseeching, and Stiles’s belly wouldn’t stop jumping every time he noticed.

 “I’m sorry about your Dad… Is that why you helped me?” Scott asked. They weren’t friends. He didn’t have any right to, but Stiles had walked in with him when he didn’t have to. (He still used ‘helped’ very loosely.)

Stiles shuffled from foot to foot, ducking his head. “Kind of,” he said, because admitting that nostalgia and hopefulness made him do something irresponsible was more embarrassing than bravado making him do the same thing. “My Dad was a good guy. He’s been gone a long time. He’d have wanted this.” _He sounded just like you do_. “I just wanna make sure you don’t get shot before we get to the Castle. It’s not too late to turn back, you know.”

Stiles put a lot of effort into sounding ominous and wise. Scott was more interested in more important things.

“You’ve been to the Castle! That’s so awesome.” Scott gushed, but he squeezed Stiles’s hand, like he had any right to. Stiles wondered if he was as kooky as those Atom’s Kids because he still didn’t want to let go. “But… You didn’t sign up for me, right? That’s. I’m being dumb.”

Stiles could have denied everything until he turned blue, but no one had ever looked at him the way Scott looked at him now, full of hope and something else that stroked his ego until it spun. So maybe it was okay that he’d taken a risk because of a boy he barely even knew. The Minutemen had been the heroes of his life for as long as he could remember, their memory his last connection to his Dad. He just never thought he’d do something as stupid as joining them. Apparently all he needed was a boy with a bright smile who was willing to do stupid things with him.

“Technically no, but I heard a lot about it! I could get us to the Castle on our own,” Stiles lied through his teeth and jabbed Scott in the stomach. “I just don’t want you to get shot. You can’t sit on everyone!”

Scott giggled at him, honest to God giggled, and Stiles sputtered indignantly as his brain struggled to find a comeback for an insult that never came.

“I won’t get shot, Stiles, and I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you don’t get shot, too.” Scott promised, though he understood he couldn’t make that promise. He understood he agreed to do something incredibly dangerous. He was just having a hard time being worried about it when everything was coming together so well. “Come on, we have two hours. Can you show me your city?”

There it was again, that look that made Stiles need to punch his belly, and he couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough. Somewhere along the way, they forgot who was leading who, and holding hands felt easier than not.

General Deaton led his squad south east, towards the Castle of Legend. It was a grand adventure that started off with a fleet of buses provided by no less than the Mayor’s office. They were escorted to the outskirts of Diamond City. Then Stiles decided to hate everything. Before the walls of the city disappeared, they were dropped off and lead to fend for themselves. The Commonwealth was a big, dangerous place. And Minutemen crossed it on their feet.  
It was the walkathon to end all walkathons, spanning lands farther than the eye could see. Stiles’s blisters grew blisters, and he hated everything. The worst part was that he wasn’t even walking anymore.

“Stop pulling my hair,” Scott griped, pinching the other boy’s thigh with cruel fingers. Stiles whined, personally affronted by Scott’s behavior, but he tightened his grip around his shoulders and dropped his chin on Scott’s head.

“I can’t help it,” he complained, though he probably could totally help it. He wiggled his toes where they rested by Scott’s waist, his long body folded around the shorter boy’s frame as he was piggybacked like a sack of potatoes. “It gets it my mouth, and it’s really poofy.”

“Your face is really poofy,” Scott threw back, his voice high-pitched and wheezy. He was red in the face, and his sweaty back stuck to Stiles’s front, but he refused to admit defeat.

“Put him down, Scott. You proved you can carry dead weight. Try not to kill yourself, eh?” a gangling beanpole of a blonde demanded across from them. He was one of the other recruits the Minutemen had picked up in Diamond City. Stiles had never seen him in his life; a face that annoying, he was bound to remember. Scott remembered his name was Isaac, like he remembered the name of every new recruit, and Stiles was beginning to fully comprehend what it meant to be on good terms (friends, even?) with someone who other people enjoyed being around.

“It’s okay. I’ve carried worse back home.” Scott had to grunt out the reply. Isaac frowned, sending Stiles a look he didn’t like, but that was probably because Stiles was already encouraging a healthy dislike for his face.

“Okay, but when you’re done with him, I bet I can carry you.” Isaac tossed back, leaning into Scott and clapping him on the shoulder. Stiles bit back a snarl, and aimed a swift kick at Isaac’s kidneys. If Scott hadn’t moved away just then, it would’ve hit, too.

“Seriously dude? I’m pretty heavy. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Scott teased, patting Stiles’s thigh, all dimples and silly smiles. Stiles wasn’t sure which one of them Scott was baiting, but it fucking worked. “Besides, General’s gonna notice we’re horsing around and - yipe!“ 

Stiles disembarked with an ‘oof,’ dusting himself off and wiggling into Scott’s line of sight. He grabbed the other boy by the hand and dragged it over his shoulder, turning until his back was pressed up against Scott’s front, and demanded, “Come on, dweeb. I’ll show you strong.”

“Stiles, don’t!” Scott laughed, but he had to fend off Stiles’s grabby hands, twisting this way and that as he was clumsily petted across his belly and hip and anywhere else Stiles could reach.

“Come on, Scott, show that dumb fluff head that-“

“Over there!” A commandingly husky voice cut through their almost-argument. Three heads swiveled towards its source, another new recruit named Violet, who found her way atop the lowest hanging branch of a large tree down the road. “I can see it!”

In the fading daylight, the electric lights were hard to see. Suddenly, Scott was scrambling on top of Stiles, and Stiles held on for dear life. He felt Scott gasp as much as he heard him and tried not to think too much about the toned arms around his head. Just around the next bend, its turrets standing out across the skyline, was the Castle.

Their caravan was struck with new vigor. Almost immediately, their pace quickened, not-so-hushed whispers passing through the ranks, and up front, General Deaton let out a sigh of relief no one would notice.

They were home.

Scott let Stiles carry him almost the entire way there, only pulling away when Stiles’s arms felt like they were going to fall off. He had the decency to look sheepish, but not for long. The Castle’s walls rose from the ground with every step they took, and Scott took his time staring, open-mouthed and unabashedly impressed. Minutemen patrolled their route, saluting to the General as they went, and Scott couldn’t remember anything being so bright before. It was almost like he couldn’t see the night stars. Then beside him, someone squeezed his hand. He startled, ducking his head when he caught sight of Stiles’s smug smirk and elbowed the other boy in the gut. Stiles gave as good as he got, laughing and tussling the whole way there.

“This everything you were expecting, Scotty?”

Scott turned away from the Castle’s weather-worn walls to see Stiles looking at the sky with open-mouthed awe, voice hushed with honest admiration. His heart beat too fast, and his ears got too warm, and Scott had to recollect his voice.

“More.”

They were ushered through the building. Scott caught glimpses of a tall metal tower, and rows and rows of crops. General Deaton showed them the way to the canteen, and put them in the capable hands of Col. Morrell at the entrance to the dorms. The fifth recruit was a stoic man who radiated grief and answered to Argent, though they would meet the rest of Col. Morrell’s team in the morning. They were given places to sleep, and cupboards that didn’t lock for their belongings. Violet claimed her bed first, and Isaac followed, offering Scott a hopeful smile that soured when Stiles caught his eye.

But it was with smug satisfaction that Stiles settled into bed, when Scott chose the one beside his, not Isaac’s. Stiles was asleep before he could properly remove his shoes. It took Scott a beat longer to drift off, but not before he wondered if he’d ever felt so relieved. No matter how he tried to remember, it all seemed a little hazy around the edges. Wherever she was, Scott hoped his Mom was okay.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Training was terrible. They started immediately.

The new recruits were confined to the Castle until such time that they wouldn’t shoot themselves in the foot when faced by the enemy. There was always a steady stream of people coming and going through their headquarters. Scott made the effort to try and remember everyone who introduced themselves; they were all people he would fight alongside one day. Stiles told him only to care about the ones with the really big hats and refused to change his mind when Scott pointed out that the hats didn’t actually mean rank.

The first time they heard the shrill blast of the radio’s siren, they all jumped. Stiles tried to play it off, claiming that the big DC had its own radio station, Diamond City Radio. Scott didn’t care (well he did, but that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm any). He was charmed. He’d heard stories about settlements big enough to have beacons, of course he had, but he’d never seen or heard one up close. Then they figured out that with its distinctive little shriek, the radio brought in missions, and that got all the new recruits were interested. It got so bad that Col. Morrell had to shoo them away to keep them from bothering the operators of Radio Freedom. They had a long way to go before they could go out on the field.

They had to learn their way around their weapons and how to function as a team. Violet was nice, if not scarily quick at catching up with Col. Morrell’s instructions. They weren’t convinced that Argent knew how to speak without sighing, and they’d agreed to disagree about Isaac. Scott didn’t think he’d ever met so many new people at once. He waited for things to click with the rest of them the way they had with Stiles, but they didn’t. They just didn’t.

It became clear very quickly that Scott and Stiles had no idea what they were doing around guns. Scott was a farm boy from a settlement that couldn’t afford to waste their ammo on such frivolous things as training, and Stiles was a street urchin with a trigger finger so jerky that this was the first time anyone thought it was a good idea to give him a gun. Yet Scott had good instincts and a surprisingly stable aim, and Stiles thought quickly on his feet and was mean with a lock pick. 

Sitting on top of people wasn’t generally Scott’s preferred modus for introducing himself, but maybe it should be. It worked really, really well. He couldn’t remember laughing so much, doubled-over and leaning against Stiles, even after a training session so long, his arms felt like they were going to fall off. It felt like they’d known each other their entire lives. Despite how they met, he’d made Stiles his friend and refused to let him back out, and Stiles... Let him. Considering that Scott was pretty sure Stiles wasn’t comfortable around most people that made him feel kind of special, not that he’d dare admit it out loud. Scott was certain that underneath Stiles’s prickly exterior, there was something softer and more forgiving. Very far underneath.

Scott’s tendency to see the best in people (the best in Stiles, specifically), left Stiles warm and fuzzy in all sorts of places. The idea of meeting people left a sour taste in Stiles’s mouth. It hadn’t taken long for that taste to creep up whenever Scott met other people, too. Stiles would have worried, but if he spent too much time worrying, someone else might swoop in and steal Scott for themselves. Stiles knew why; Stiles had a whole list of why. Scott was funny, and kind, and always, always ready to push a bad idea into something worse. Stiles was kind of _very_ invested in impressing the butts off of him, and he would do everything in his power to earn that awe. There was one thing, however, that Stiles had absolutely no preparation for.

Farming.

Those lower on the totem pole were in charge of tending to the plots the Castle had within its walls. If Stiles never saw another Tato it would be too soon.

“How are you doing this?” Stiles demanded, throwing himself against an unmoving brahmin that was more concerned with the muck-filled bathtub in front of it then the annoying pest that swatted its hide. “How are you still doing this?!”

Stiles was both impressed and _horrified_ that Scott was still working. Very impressed, even, and without the other recruit to notice him, he had no reason to avert his eyes as the muscles in Scott’s back played with every swing of his hoe.

“I’m used to it?” Scott laughed. Stiles let out a sound that was almost the same thing, but there was a drop of sweat that rolled across Scott’s arm, all the way down his elbow, and Stiles was invested in watching its progress. “Life’s hard on a farm. We were always working. We would get up before dawn to inspect the fences and have watch shifts through the night.” He doubled over, breathing hard and let out a guttural grunt as he stretched himself lengthwise. Stiles wasn’t going to forget that any time soon. Then Scott flashed Stiles a bright smile, and Stiles found himself incredibly insulted for reasons he couldn’t say.

“But we’re doing really well. We even built an automatic turret. Sometimes we get traders too,” Scott said, a discreet but unapologetic pride coloring his words. It was a tone Stiles had become familiar with and came out the most whenever he wheedled Scott about his home. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking. “We get river run-off from the reservoir by Nut Hill, and we’re far enough that the mirelurks don’t bother us. It’s tough, really tough, but we’re doing good… I miss them.”

“Why, dude I’m here?” Scott ducked his head and flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the midday sun. Stiles didn’t know what he did, but he swore to himself that he’d do it again. He couldn’t stop grinning.

“Yeah… Yeah, you are.” Scott scrubbed a dirty hand over his face, gathering up his courage to do something absolutely terrible. He was cut off when the siren let out a shrill, angry screech, and both boys had to stop to stare. They’d been doing it all week. It was a habit they couldn’t seem to shake, even if knowing who needed help didn’t change anything. Then Violet sped past them in a blur, her long ponytail bouncing.

“All hands on deck! The Colonel wants ever available gun!”

Even though Scott wasn’t the one on a (terribly extended) break, he was the first to take off running. Stiles squawked ineffectively behind him.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked. “What do they need?”

“Feral ghouls, a settlement nearby’s overrun. They need help now-now! Everyone who can go should get going!”

Right behind them Stiles gasped.  Scott turned to look over his shoulder, catching his eye before he’d realized he’d been looking for it, and this was terrible, awful luck, but Stiles was wobbling like a bobblehead. Then they were off.

The settlement was just by Nordhagen Beach, where a harried but grateful settler directed them towards the National Guard. The ghouls had attacked them for the second time in just as many days, and the settlement was just keeping up their defenses. There were resources to rebuild and the injured to tend to, but no matter how many ghouls they cut down, they always seemed to come back with recruitments. Recruitments with a distinctly green tinge.

Stiles puffed up his chest, still wheezing from the trek over, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins, excitement breathing life into his bones. He thought that Scott would be doing a thousand times better, chiseled out of stone as he was, but beside him the other boy had fallen silent, his normally expressive face struck with a solemn intensity. Stiles thought it was fear, and he didn’t need to think twice about reaching out. The back of his hand brushed against Scott’s, and a ripple of emotion spread across Scott’s face. He turned slightly, catching Stiles’s eye. He wasn’t smiling, but considering what they were going up against, it was good enough.

“Teams of two, do not let your partner out of your sight.” Col. Morrell was telling them, her voice carrying with the same brisk authority that characterized every training session with her. “The floors aren’t always stable and they aren’t always there. Stick to the walls the best you can. We don’t need you picked off before the ghouls even get to you, and keep your eyes peeled to the ground. Those fuckers like to play dead. If you see something that looks like its _sleeping_ , put a bullet between its eyes to be sure. Don’t get too close if you can help it, and always, always watch your partner’s back. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” answered in a chorus.

“The object of this mission is to find and kill the glowing one. If you are unlucky enough to do so, get as far back as you can, and try to find as much back up as possible. It’ll take more than one bullet to take that fucker down, and if you get too close, you’ll start glowing too.”

The old-troupers in Col. Morrell’s team didn’t flinch, but the newbies exchanged glances, all except for Scott, who stood solemn and proud, his hand on the barrel of his new rifle. Their group headed out, but Stiles stuck a little too close to his partner, dropping his voice to a whisper. It figured he’d need to be facing death to manage anything less than a defiant yell. “Are you okay?”

Scott exhaled deeply, but he didn’t say no.

“They’re fast, Stiles. Really, really fast. Stay as far away as you can, and keep that stimpak ready, okay? I need… I need you to be okay.”

Stiles stopped in his tracks, mouth half-open like he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. He nodded slowly, trying, “Okay, dude… Okay.”

His gun had never felt so heavy.

Up ahead, Col. Morrell gave them all one final, lingering look, before she pushed open the front gate of the National Guard Training Yard. The Minutemen were on the job.

They spread out in groups of two and three. It became very clear very quickly what the Colonel had said about the unsteady floors. In some places, the floors were completely absent, and Scott could see to the very roof of the building by looking up. They tried to keep the others in sight, but there was too much ground that needed covered. All too soon, it was just Scott and Stiles left, and too many sinister-looking shadows to keep them company. They crept through unfamiliar rooms, trying to feel brave behind their weapons but straining to catch the first sounds of gunfire, or worse, the creak of a loose board.

“Hey, hey hold up, I got an idea.” Scott would never admit to how close he came to pissing his pants, whirling around to face the other boy with a pained expression on his face, but Stiles was grinning. “Check that out!”

In the corner of the room, right beside an elevator sealed off by a steel cage was a dusty monitor. It looked like it hadn't been touched in decades. Scott scrunched his face up, uncertain. “Stiles…”

“No, dude, I got this,” Stiles insisted, just a hint too shrill. “We have these back home. I can get this box up and running, and we won’t have to worry about climbing anywhere, for real.”

All it took was the tap of a button to turn it on. Both boys gasped when the monitor came to life, excitement hard to shake, until a wave of numbers, letters and symbols filled the dark green screen. Stiles squinted, unwilling to admit defeat, but very surreptitiously poking at buttons on the keyboard just to see what would happened. The machine let out an angry beep in warning, and Stiles jerked back nervously. They exchanged looks that meant too much. Without the need for an explanation, Scott took his place, and Stiles settled in behind him, gun at the ready. The sound of frantic typing seemed to scream through the room, and suddenly, there was a scream. Both boys tensed, looking around wildly as gunfire went off. It was the first time Stiles heard the garbled, inhuman cry of a feral ghoul. It was out of sight but too close for comfort, and all he wanted to do was run.

Then a completely different beep sounded, and a familiar arm slung around his waist, dragging him closer. Stiles breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator opened and Scott laughed against the side of his head.

“How did you do that?” Stiles asked, unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

“I- well, there were warning things,” Scott explained, pleased with himself and not even trying to hide it. “I’ll show you when we’re done here.”

The shooting had tapered off.

They filed into the elevator and couldn’t keep from huddling together, filled with impatience and dread. Metal clanked around their head as ancient gears turned and whirled, and that look was back on Scott’s face, that awful determined look. This time Stiles didn’t get the chance to ask about it. The doors opened and they were attacked.

In the tattered remains of what was once a sundress, a beastly sight dragged itself towards them with a furious snarl. Before Stiles could make the decision to, he was reaching for his gun. Twin shots gunned the creature down, sending rotten flesh splattering, but not before a second ghoul roared from down the hall. It bumbled towards them, and neither would ever forget the awful sound of dead flesh grinding across decaying bones or the sickening crack of a shot hitting its mark.

“Stiles!” Scott yelled, but gun fire rang out before Stiles got the chance to turn. They were attacked from both sides, flanked from both sides of the corridor. Sweat dropped down Scott’s nose, every instinct telling him to turn and run, to hide. Then his gun stopped firing. Horror dawned in slow streaks across his face, but a steady hand pressed another round into his hip. Scott didn’t even get the chance to say his thanks, reloading and firing just as a ghoul got close enough to touch him. It keeled over backwards as a blast exploded into his lungs, dying hand grazing the front of Scott’s shirt.

Silence fell. The pounding of his heart echoed through his skull, so loud Scott was afraid he wouldn’t hear the next ghoul approach. Then Stiles grabbed him by the arm, bracing himself as he doubled over and dry heaved, startling Scott out of his reverie. He gasped, hunching over Stiles, rubbing his back to try and soothe him.

“Oh Stiles! Oh Stiles oh Stiles are you hurt?” His voice was shot to shit, choked with fear and buzzed with nerves, but his aim had been true. If anything had happened to Stiles, Scott didn’t know how he’d go on. Then the brunette turned into him, hugging him tight. His eyes were screwed shut, and he could still see the feral ghoul’s mangled face in the dark, but Scott was warm and steady beneath him. Scott wouldn’t let him go.

“Not gonna give up. Can’t stop now, Scotty, don’t want to stop,” Stiles hissed. It was the only way he could stop himself from sobbing. Scott pressed the sweetest kiss against his brow, and cupped his cheek, gently urging Stiles to look at him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Stiles… Not without you.”

The world felt a little bit lighter.

They took the path to their left, hand in hand at first, clearing out rooms as they went. Scott found an old pack of RadAway and a mostly full stimpak. Stiles found a hot plate he swore he could do something with once they got back to safety. They fell back on their training, picking locks and breaking into rooms as a team, with one person always keeping watch and the other with his gun at the ready. They learned the hard way that they needed to check every nook and cranny of a room when an angry ghoul stumbled out from inside a cabinet, snarling at them. All the while, the sound of gunfire followed them, echoing through the building, but Scott was learning to like it. It meant that they weren’t alone.

“Woah – woah!” Stiles called out, his arm shooting out to catch Scott in the chest before he could take another step forward. “Watch it, dude. Don’t want you going splat.”

“Woah.”

They’d shared a look, and a pair of nervous smiles, before turning as one towards the huge, gaping hole in the center of the room. Scott remembered looking up from the ground floor. They’d come a long way. He squeezed Stiles’s hand.

“You remember Col. Morrell’s warning. Stick to the walls. I’ve got your back.”

“You always do, Stiles.”

Stiles had to squeeze his hand right back.

They crept through the room in a single-file, meaning to clear it then get to the doorway on the opposite end. Halfway around the room, Stiles spotted a figure curled into fetal position, its sallow skin hanging just as low as its moth-eaten clothes.  He raised his gun and shot, only to anger the ghoul who stumbled to its wobbly feet, angry arms outstretched as it broke into a run. Scott gunned it down a second later.

Stiles let out a shuddering breath, and it was so easy to lean back against Scott, he didn’t have the strength to stop himself. Closing his eyes for just a second. His back was drenched in sweat, his muscles screaming with exertion, but there was a hand on his shoulder, and Scott could almost make everything okay.

“Hey, if we never get out of this alive, I wasn’t really trying to test you when we first met.” Stiles murmured.

Scott snorted, and Stiles stood a little straighter when he realized it was a fond sound. “It’s okay, bro. I’m not sorry I sat on you.”

They combed through the room, making sure it was empty and that the dead were really dead, slowly but surely making their way towards the doorway on the opposite end. The scent hit them like a train, and both boys had to stop, blinking away tears.

“Shit that’s-” Stiles mumbled darkly. “There’s got to be a whole lot of them.”

“Still got my back, dude?”

“Always.”

With one final glance around the room, making sure they really were alone, Scott burst through the bathroom door. Stiles had his gun cocked, ready to shoot, but it wasn’t a group of them. They’d done it. They’d hit the mother lode. With dawning horror, they watched as a glowing one pulled itself to its feet, radiated flesh peeling off its blackened bones, the entire room bathed in its eerie light, and when it turned towards them, beady eyes fixed on them, a wave of nausea washed through them both. Stiles yelled, emptying an entire round of bullets into it before it could do the same, and Scott followed just a beat behind. Almost all their shots hit, tearing the ghoul apart, shattering muscle and bone alike, and it let out a desperately angry sound.

It wasn’t enough.

The glowing one lunged at them, swiping at them with hands so twisted, they could have been talons. Stiles gasped and grabbed at Scott, dragging him backwards as fast as possible as Scott fumbled with reloading his gun. He turned at the last second to pull Stiles back with a yell, just before they toppled through the gaping hole in the ground. The glowing one never slowed, stumbling after them with terrifying speed.

“Run!” Scott yelled, pushing Stiles across the wall, stubbornly standing between him and his friend, firing shot after shot that barely seemed to affect the ghoul until he got one right between the eyes. Its head knocked back, the gruesome sound of cracking bone echoing across the building as its neck turned on impact. Its body swayed back and forth, and Scott counted a win.

He was wrong.

Without warning, the ghoul lunged, tearing through his chest with radiated hands and pain exploded through his nerves. Scott screamed in agony, hands spasming as he fell to the ground, an impossible heat breaking across his skin. He never heard Stiles call his name, or the chorus of cries from a fall lower and the barrage of gunfire that followed. He felt like he was on fire, tears streaking down his face as he was lifted up by his pits and dragged away. He screamed until his throat threaten bleed, darkness creeping across his vision.

The last thing Scott saw before he blacked out was his best friend’s grief-stricken features as Stiles tore a stimpak open with his teeth, and he hoped Stiles wasn’t hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

Scott woke to the sound of a billion buzzing botflies, blinding lights, and the certainty that he was floating on a cloud. It took him a second longer to realize that the buzzing was all in his head, but for a guy who was dead, he was feeling pretty stellar, up until he tried to sit up. Then everything swerved.

“Woah, hold it!”

Gentle, calloused hands were on him immediately, guiding him back down as Stiles not-so-quietly fussed over him, brows drawn in consideration, his mouth pursed like he’d smelled something awful. Maybe that was Scott? Maybe Scott smelled? That was just really rude of him then.

“No, bro, you don’t smell.” Stiles was smiling, so Scott smiled with him, eagerly turning into his palm, and when had that gotten there? Scott didn’t remember, but he wanted to get close to make sure it stayed. Stiles scratched his fingers through Scott’s hair, and Scott didn’t know why they’d never done that before. “So, Col. Morrell said stimpaks can make you a little loopy? Depending how much you have to take. Scott, you had to take a bunch.”

Even as Stiles spoke, the dizziness was clearing. Scott would have wagered that he would have been fine if he’d gotten up the moment he’d awaken, but Stiles was still rubbing his scalp. Scott could think of absolutely no reasons to move.

“Also don’t ever do that again, you fucking asshole.”

 “I’m sorry.” It didn’t matter that Stiles didn’t sound mad. Scott reached out and patted him on the leg, hoping to ease the anger that marred his features.

“I’m not done, Scott! You blocked my shot! You told me to _run!_ ” Stiles accused, hovering over the other boy, gritting his teeth together, and Scott saw now that he was bundled up on Stiles’s bed, nearly every available pillow in their dorm room positioned in a makeshift nest all around him. Stiles jabbed an accusatory finger at Scott’s face, eyes screwed almost shut like he was trying not to cry. Or yell some more. “You could have died! If you… I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you, too.”

“Stiles.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Scott wrapped his arms around his shoulders and dragged him into a bone-crunching hug. The other boy froze, not quite sure what to do with his gangly limbs, before he settled for wiggling on top of Scott, like a particularly bony blanket. He’d known Scott for barely a handful of months, and he honestly couldn’t fathom going back to a life without him. He never got to bury his father. Stiles was beginning to see that as a mercy.

“I’m sorry, Stiles.” Scott repeated, right against his crown. He snuggled in, gently petting down the other boy’s back. “I just did this before. I fought them, and it’s… It’s what works. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“What about you?” The question surprised Scott, and when Stiles saw that, he was torn between pulling away and pushing closer, not sure if he was more disgusted or angry. All he was sure of was that he had to stop Scott immediately. “You don’t get to throw your life away. Fuck your experience! You just got here! That’s… That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt, Stiles.”

“ _Good._ We agree on one thing. Now can we agree on you not getting hurt, too?”

Scott did something with his hands, something so they and all his capable fingers were spread out and touching Stiles in many places, and he looked up at him with a blindingly bright smile. For a guy who just faced death, Stiles thought he was remarkably good looking and also a ginormous dick.

“Yeah okay.”

“How about you work on sounding like you mean it, dick breath?”

With a laugh, Scott rolled them over, pinning Stiles to his bed and squishing him like a bug. Stiles squirmed, full of self-righteous anger that didn’t feel very angry when Scott was snuggling into his shoulder like that.

“Can I go back to sleep, Stiles?”

Stiles was going to make him work for it. Stiles was going to deny him, and spit terrible things in his face, and make Scott pay for scaring him like that. Then the barracks door burst open to reveal Isaac and Violet, and Stiles thought it was much more important to protect Scott’s dignity.

“There he is! The man of the hour.”

“Good shooting, McCall, try not to die next time.”

There was tussling to be had, and laughter to spill, and Isaac was very concerned about his pillow going missing. Other members of their squadron would file in eventually, congratulating Scott for his bravery and knocking him down for a rookie mistake, but Col. Morrell showed up as well to clap him on the shoulder. It was a good night. It was even better, because through it all, Stiles didn’t leave his side once.

From that point forward, Col. Morrell permanently assigned them to her roving team, and they spent weeks at a time on the road, traveling the Commonwealths and offering help where it was needed the most, all the while never wandering too far out of Radio Freedom’s range. After a few more eventful encounters with ferals, Scott got the title of Ghoul Wrangler, even though Violet could put them away faster than even Argent. Stiles couldn’t decide if it was an insult or a compliment, and used it as both in equal measure. The next time they returned to the Castle, it was as well-respected (a term very loosely used) seniors. There were new recruits to train and someone else to handle tending the homestead. Stiles lapped it up. 

“You can’t keep telling people that I singlehandedly defeated a Death Claw, Stiles.” Scott groaned, shoving at the other man once he was close enough to. “I haven’t even seen a Death Claw!”

“You won’t ‘cuz it’ll see you first. Is Dunbar following you around again? I thought you liked that. You should be thanking me, even if his crush is kinda gross.” Stiles snickered, wiggling his eyebrows as poking, rude fingers jabbed into his sides. Scott shoved him again, this time in the face. Stiles went down cackling. He waited a beat, then added, “But Death Claw’s’ll smell you or hear you before they see you, probably.”

“He doesn’t have a crush!”

Stiles rolled his eyes, mildly appeased but also _supremely_ annoyed by how trivially Scott took all of this. Then again, it was hard to take Liam seriously. “He just follows you around for the fun of it.”

“You’re an ass.” Scott accused, but he couldn’t make his voice sound anything but fond. They carefully set themselves along the edge of the Castle wall, not too far from the path used to service the turrets that protected the fortress. Scott let his feet dangle over the ledge, almost in defiance of a fall that would break every bone in his body. Stiles rummaged through his bag to pull out a small sack of mutfruits. It was completely different and probably a million miles away, but Scott almost felt like he was back home. Nudging the other boy with his shoulder, he confessed softly, “Liam’s never been out of a settlement before. We’re not that different. I think he misses them a lot, even if he likes being here.”

Stiles hesitated, sending the other boy a considering look that shook Scott off guard almost as much as his question. “Do you?”

For the first time in months, Scott had to think twice about sharing something with Stiles. A quick flare of defensiveness cropping up instinctively, like he could protect his friend from feeling jealous of a time he wasn’t there, a time Scott wasn’t sure how he survived without laughing this much. And just like that Scott stumbled across something he couldn’t share with the other boy. There was such a thing as too much honesty. Scott almost regretted finding it.

“Sometimes.” He conceded, propping himself up on one side. The world was so much bigger than he expected, but the stars speckled across the night still looked the familiar. That had to count for something. “I miss my Mom. I’ve never been away from home for so long, and it’s kind of like... This feels like home, too. Being with you guys. I still want to go back sometime, just to make sure she’s okay. So she knows I’m okay, too.”

He paused, weighing the question on his tongue, before daring, “I mean, that shouldn’t be a problem, right? Your Dad came home sometimes.”

Stiles exhaled noisily. The sound of his heel tapping against the Castle wall was suddenly just so fascinating. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d talked about his Dad. He still knew exactly how much Scott knew about him, how much he’d let him know. General Deaton had been surprisingly forthcoming with information when Stiles asked. Stiles hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him more than once.

His Dad had died a hero. That was good, real noble and all, but in the back of his mind, Stiles conceded that he may have known enough heroes to last him for the rest of his life. That just made Scott a huge fucking problem, and yet Stiles had no urge to step off the ledge they shared.

“Yeah, he ah – used to come home a lot. He wasn’t always a Minuteman. When he first started out, me’n’my Mom saw a lot of him. She’s gone, too.” Stiles shrugged. That was how Stiles knew that when his Dad started going on longer expeditions, it was his choice. Stiles didn’t think he could ever forgive him for that, but hating someone he was never going to see again was so much more tiring than he thought it would be. Besides, he could understand not wanting to come home. After his Mom fell ill, there weren’t many places in their house that felt like home. He barreled on before Scott could say something that would make them both sad. “He always made it for my birthday, usually. Except for once, but that doesn’t even count, dude. Once he brought back this really awesome busted up Giddyup Buttercup that shot fire out of its butt when it overheated.”

“No way!” Scott gasped, and Stiles that was the most satisfying thing ever. “Dude, that’s so awesome! When’s your birthday?”

“Why? Are you gonna fart me out flames, too?”

“I could,” Scott grumbled, a little too faint to be entirely joking. Stiles laughed so hard, Scott had to keep him from falling off the ledge. He threw a mutfruit pit at Stiles, and when it plonked off his forehead, that set Scott off too. He smiled turned shy after a beat, nervous like it shouldn’t be when Stiles had laughed himself into hiccups. “Hey bro… When I go back, you should come with me. My Mom makes really, really good jam. And. And I think she’ll really like you, too. I do.”

Stiles’s shoulders sagged, and his brows furrowed. Heat pooled at the back of his eyes, and before he could do something dumb, he lunged at Scott and knocked him to the floor. Scott went down screaming, and they couldn’t even be sorry when the night patrol rushed over to make sure no one was actually dead. Eventually they were going to have to rest. New missions came out frequently, and neither boy was particularly pressed to leave their current team, not when things had been going so well. They’d be back on the road in no time, but for the moment, they were happy to lean on each other, and gab until the brahmin came home.

Scott had no way of knowing that the next time he saw Nut Hill, it would be on his own.

At the butt crack of dawn, with high spirits and full bellies, they set out for Boston the next day. They never got that far.  

Scott had been occupied with trying to outline their route on his map, a meandering path that moved through a few known settlements that the Minutemen had seen before. Their aim was to promote their presence in the area, and their commanding officers never stopped stressing that they ought to offer help whenever it was needed. Stiles was still trying to convince himself that staying awake was actually a good idea.

“ _Col. Morrell, we’ve got something._ ” Violet’s voice crackled through their radios, one of the scouts they’d sent ahead on their path. Even with their numbers and as well-armed as they were, travel through the Commonwealths was always a risk, but the fact that she could send a coherent message without resorting to their emergency signals helped put them at ease.

When they caught up to her, they found her crouched over an exhausted settler, her eyes wild with fear. She’d been driven miles by fear and desperation, and drank greedily from Violet’s flask. She didn’t appear to notice how dangerous the Minuteman’s metal necklace was. When she spoke, it was in a careful, composed voice. “Caitlin came up ahead of us on the road, she was-”

“He’s insane!” Caitlin blurted out, still gasping for breath. She swiped the back of her trembling hand over her mouth. Her pants were caked in dirt, and her shoulder bleeding sluggishly, but she was happy to be alive. She’d call herself lucky, too. “He just – he just started shooting at everyone, yelling about how we were out to get him, and Emily, oh Emily, she could be!”

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” Scott said, crouching in front of the distraught woman. “It’s okay, everything will be all right. We’re going to help you, but first you have to tell us exactly what happened.”

 Someone squeezed his shoulder, and he looked up just in time to see Col. Morrell give a curt nod. It would make no sense to disrupt them now. Behind him, she turned to order a search party forward, to make sure that Caitlin wasn’t followed. And to make sure that she wasn’t bait. Stiles chose to stay back, purposely avoiding the commanding officer’s line of sight. If Caitlin tried anything with Scott that close, he’d have a bullet through her skull before she could reach him.

“Donovan, he just. He went berserk!” Her eyes were wild, cheeks flushed with color, but she leaned into Scott when he offered her a hand to hold. She took deep, laboring breaths before trying again. “This morning he just? Everything was fine! Then he opened fire on the square and he said we were all trying to replace him, trying to get rid of him. He took people hostage, sealed the exits. Tried to get us to talk. I don’t know what he wants. I got out just in time. I don’t know what he’s doing. _No one_ would hurt Donovan. I don’t know. He was our friend… You’re Minutemen, right? She said you were Minutemen.”

“We are, and we can help. We’ll do everything we can.”

“You have to save them,” Caitlin begged. “You have to stop him.”

Scott nodded solemnly, holding himself with a quiet determination, his shoulders just a little straighter as he promised, “We won’t let him hurt anyone else.”

By the time they were finished speaking, Caitlin looked like she was going to keel over, even if almost no time at all had passed. They recounted her tale to the Colonel in soft voices to keep from disturbing her, but she seemed far more interested in what supplies they could share and was just as eager to return home.

“She sounds sincere.” Scott said, as Stiles scowled by his side, like a trigger-happy shadow. “They were holed up in Gwinnett Restaurant, said they didn’t have any trouble, and it was easy enough to fortify the place. She can’t think of any reason her friend was set off, and I think anything that could have messed him up like that would’ve affected the rest of them.”

“Or it could be a trap. She was looking for us. It all seems messed up to me.” 

“She was looking for us because we help people, Stiles. How’d she even know we’d be here?” Scott grumbled under his breath, and only felt a little put-off by speaking out in front of Col. Morrell. Stiles had no such qualms. He rolled his eyes like he wanted them out of his skull.

“She was out cold when I found her. That’s pretty ineffective bait if you ask me,” Violet pointed out.

“Regardless, it’s worth investigating. Good job, all of you. Time is of the essence. We cannot afford to dawdle.”

The Gwinnet Restaurant was in the middle of what used to be a small town that had seen better times. Caitlin said the surrounding buildings were empty, and they’d last checked the previous day, but that was no longer a guarantee for safety. Life in the Commonwealth could move as fast as lightning or as slow as molasses.

Scott and Stiles were part of the group that headed directly towards the front entrance, while Col. Morrell led the rest of their party around back, meaning to enter through the adjacent brewery. If Donovan’s outburst was as accidental and unplanned as Caitlin’s story suggested, then taking him down wouldn’t be a problem. If it wasn’t, having a team go in through the back door would help clear out any surprise attacks. Their biggest concern was the hostages he might have, which was infinitely better than him not having any hostages at all.

“He’ll listen if we talk to him,” Scott whispered, as Stiles crouched by the front door, picking the lock. His friend snorted, unashamed to hide his disapproval.

With an extra hair pin between his teeth, Stiles ground out, “You can’t save everyone, Scotty.”

“But we have to try.”

The lock clicked open, but that wasn’t the only reason Stiles smiled. Scott hadn’t surprised him. That made it harder to explain away the fuzzy feeling in his stomach whenever his friend said things like that. Terrible, horrible naïve things. Stiles may have said the exact opposite, but in the back of his mind, he liked to hope Scott would be right. Wild radstag wouldn’t drag the truth out of him.  

They waited, listening for any sign their intrusion had been detected. Then Scott slipped in first, gun raised and ready to fire. Just inside the doorway were a string of cans that acted as a makeshift alarm. Scott signaled for the others to be careful as they moved in, with a man remaining by the door, to guard their rear.

They heard Donovan as soon as they walked in. His voice carried through the restaurant, a brittle rasp thick with fear that painted this as a delicate matter. They had no way of knowing how long Caitlin was on the road, but if Donovan was still volatile, their odds only worsened. The walls were splattered with blood. Down the corridor to their right, every door had been flung open. Someone lay, unmoving, in the entrance of the farthest. To their left, the bottom floor of the restaurant bore a macabre display. Where booths had been cleared to make a communal spot were the remains of a surprise attack.  Stiles counted five dead. Donovan hadn’t made any effort to clean up. 

A staircase by the cashier lead to the upper deck. Argent gestured for Scott to take it, while he intended on crossing the staircase on the far end of the hall. They would flank Donovan, and hopefully this day would end with no more bloodshed.

As they were ascending, another person’s voice piped up, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. From his position by the staircase, Scott counted seven civilians, all of them huddled in a corner as Donovan towered over them. He was a lanky figure, dark hair caked with sweat. His hand shook around his pipe pistol, but it was too much to hope that it would be out of ammo. They only moved when Argent was in position.

“Please, please stop, they need help, Don. We can all walk away from this!” A young girl with blonde hair pleaded.

“No no, Lori! NO! Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you tell me?! Who did this to me?! Who made me!?” Donovan screamed in her face, but he still turned when Scott called his name, mouth falling open in a stunned ‘O.’ He realized very quickly that he didn’t like being on the other end of a gun. “You did this.” He accused in a quiet murmur, like he was seeing the last piece of a puzzle fall into place. He almost sounded grateful. “You did this. You’re responsible. You-”

“That’s enough, Donovan. You’ve done enough.” Scott said in a painfully earnest tone that was laced with steel. He met his eyes evenly, commanding his attention. “I want to help you. I know who tried to take you. I know why they did it, but the only way you’ll get the answers you want is if you put down that gun.”

“You’re lying.  I’ve never – I don’t know you!” 

“But I know you. Put the gun down, and I will tell you everything you want to know. That’s why I’m here. Please Donovan. All I want to do is help you.”

Donovan looked like he was going to cry, even as his lips peeled back in a vicious snarl. Scott tensed, watching him slowly lower his weapon. It was almost over. Then the sound of gunfire startled them both, followed by a crash from inside the building.

“ _Never_.” Donovan hissed. Stiles gunned him down before he could properly raise his hand, his shot lost to the sound of terrified screams. Scott’s expression crumbled in horror he didn’t have the privilege of dwelling on. From the other end of the deck, connected to what was once the drinks bar on the opposite end of the building, charged two mutated mutts, and their super mutated master wasn’t far behind.

The Minutemen opened fire, gunning them down before they could flood into the deck. An earth-shattering roar threatened to level the building. They were moving before their bodies hit the ground, hurriedly herding the hostages to their feet.

“They must have gotten in through the water pipes!” Stiles spat out, and the implications felt like a punch to the gut, but Scott spoke over him, addressing the group.

“We’re with the Minutemen. Caitlin got us, and we’re getting you all out of here,” he explained in a rush, and a brown-eyed brunette gasped. She was in a bad way, features ashen and lips almost blue, her hand pressed tight to her chest, but she wheezed, “Caitlin? Caitlin’s okay?”

“She’s safe,” Scott insisted. “And we’re going to get you all out of here. Come on.”

They lead them down the staircase just as the front door blew open. The super mutant roared, opening fire before it could take any sort of aim, the Minutemen’s front guard dead by its feet. Their bullets tore it apart, but in the distance, a haunting taunt carried. More were coming.

“ _Go ahead and run little bleeders!_ ”

 “Head to the back, go. Go!” One of the hostages roared, and Scott and Stiles bodily shoved their charges down the stairs. There was only one direction to go. They ran to the back door and through the corridor that lead to the kitchen just as more super mutants poured through the front door. Stiles lead the way, making sure it was clear, while Scott and Argent tried to pelt their pursuers with as much lead as they could.

With a solemn air, Argent turned to Scott, grabbing him by the shoulder. “I’ll buy you time. Get them out of the back way before the mutants have a chance to overrun the place. Col. Morrell wouldn’t have let them go easy.”

“What about you?”

Argent didn’t have an answer for him. Regret cut through Scott’s features, but he clapped the other man on the shoulder one last time before running down the hall. No sooner did he catch sight of the kitchen doors did a blast go off behind him, a few shots collapsing the ceiling, and Argent sealed off the corridor. Scott wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, not yet. A hand wound around his elbow, and he looked up to find Stiles there, dragging him backwards. Even after Scott started running, he wouldn’t let go.

“We have to get them out of here. Argent said-”

“Scott. It’s too late.” Stiles whispered, nodding towards the hole in the wall at the other end of the kitchen, by the elevator. It gave way to the Gwinnett Brewery, blocked from direct view by two large metal tanks, but there was still enough space for them to catch a glimpse of the large, hulking figures that had already crossed through the pipeline. “We turned off the elevator. They won’t be able to use it either.”

It was the first time since they arrived that Scott had the chance to breathe, and he desperately wished he didn’t. Stiles was stone-faced and afraid by his side, but he wouldn’t back down. It wouldn’t do to lose their heads now. They couldn’t manage panic. It was just the two of them and seven untrained civilians against a hoard. Scott squeezed Stiles’s hand before letting go, and turned to address their group.

“We have to barricade the door, grab anything you can. It’ll slow them down.”

Scott didn’t need to say it wouldn’t for long, not if how much ammo they could eat said anything about super mutant constitutions.

“Sir!” The blonde that had spoken earlier tried to catch their attention from where she was crouched by her friend. “Emily’s hurt badly. I don’t know what to do.”

The tall figure that hovered over them could only be her brother. Scott gently sent him towards the door before joining Lori. He checked Emily’s pulse, before turning to watch Stiles order around their little troop and glancing back at their spyhole into the brewery. It was easy to give up his stimpak.

“It’s okay. I can take care of her… Emily, right? Caitlin was worried about you. She’ll be happy to know you’re okay when this is all over, okay? Let me do this.”

Scott eased the needle in as carefully as he could.  The change was almost instantaneous. Emily groaned, turning on her side, but she was already breathing better. It was amazing what the old technologies could do. If only their ancestors could have kept from killing each other, who knows how much they could have accomplished by now. After handing out a few containers of clean water and telling Lori to distribute them once people were finished, he excused himself softly, wiping a hand across his brow before he found his place by Stiles’s side. The other boy leaned into him, bumping their shoulders together. Scott wished he could spend the rest of his day just like that, but a crash came from down the hallway as their enemies broke a hole through the bathroom wall, bypassing the blockage in the corridor.

“How much ammo do you have left?” He asked, and Stiles didn’t even need to look straight at him to send him a dirty look.

“You’re not going to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Something stupid and heroic. We’re doing this together.”

Scott let out a frustrated noise that Stiles had no problem ignoring. Stiles was prepared for more arguing, but Scott reached for his radio instead. He hunched over so the civilians wouldn’t notice before he transmitted, “Stilinski and McCall requesting assistance. Can anyone hear us?”

He fixed Stiles with a pointed look, before repeating the message, but all he got was static. Scott wanted so badly to be wrong.

“We’re running out of options, Stiles. I can scout on ahead, and lead them away from you. I’ll make a big enough racket to get them out of the restaurant, or take down enough that you can slip through to the brewery, but they need you to lead them, Stiles.” He spoke like he was in a daze. Everything clicked in his mind, but it took so much effort to string his sentences together. It might have been shock. Scott didn’t want to stop long enough to think about it. “Argent, Garrison, and who knows who else? I can’t… I won’t let that happen to you.”

Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him before Scott could second guess anything.  Stiles tucked him under his chin, fists gripping hard against the back of his shirt. When Scott shuddered, he felt it too. “What makes you think I’m going to let you go anywhere without me?” Stiles whispered, heatedly. “You said you were going to watch my back. You can’t do that if you go.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Scott said, his face tucked into the hollow of Stiles’s throat. The Minutemen had never been the safe choice, but he never thought he’d have to watch everyone he’d met disappear before the bitter end. He never thought it would be a brutal battle that couldn’t end fast enough. Then there was Stiles, like no other person he’d ever met. No matter how he tried to pull away, Stiles held on, and not for the first time, or even the first hundredth, Scott wondered what it would have been like to grow up with Stiles, to know everything about him, what made him laugh and all the little things that brought out the crease between his brows.  “Thank you for being my friend, Stiles. I think you’re the best one I’ve ever had.”

Scott looked at him like no one else had, and Stiles knew it was completely, hopelessly ridiculous to let one _look_ stop everything in its tracks. He knew people were staring, but they’d have to pay him to care. He was talking Scott off of a ledge. He knew it with a familiarity he’d never shared with someone else, swore sometimes that Scott had stolen half his brain when he wasn’t looking. Scott still managed to surprise him.

“If I do something stupid, will you hold it against me?”

“Of course,” Stiles dared a smile, but it twisted into a quiet gasp when Scott leaned forward and kissed him. It was soft and sweet, just the briefest touch of skin that sent shivers all the way down to Stiles’s toes. Scott held his breath when he pulled away. Stiles didn’t let go of his hand. “Oh.”

“I might not get another chance.”

Scott might have been teasing, but Stiles wasn’t taking any chances.

“Shut your dumb face, Scotty. We’re getting out of here.”

Scott ducked his head, turning away from inquisitive stares and Stiles pointed one, only to catch a glimpse of the super mutants moving a floor beneath them. “And I think I know how.”

They patched together the makings of a plan and pooled their resources. The civilians had little to offer, but they gave what they could and prepared to leave. Scott pressed as close to the breach in the wall as he could. A little tinkering and they crafted a better scope for his gun. To his side, Stiles waited, with a half-hearted effort at keeping still. A super mutant flitted in and out of his scope. Scott took a deep breath. The shot took its victim in the skull, a critical hit. Even though the monster died, one of its companions roared in horror. It sounded like a stampede echoed beneath them as super mutants flooded in to find their attackers. They trampled the corpse, ready to tear apart the building just to find the source. Scott counted down in his head, looking for an opening to cause the most turmoil. Shooting a mutant through the eye did the trick.

Beside him, Stiles readied the grenades they’d prepared. Everything he and Scott had was covered in metal cutlery and broken glass, held together by tattered cloth. In their panic, the super mutants didn’t notice the package that was dropped at their feet until it was too late.

“Get back!” Stiles yelled, and they scrambled to the opposite side of the room. Crouched against the wall, Scott braced himself. The blast still took his breath away. It seemed like the entire building shook down to its foundation. Their ears were still ringing, but the Minutemen hoarded their charges into the elevator, both daringly and foolishly standing in front of them. If they hadn’t gotten rid of all the Super Mutants, what greeted them outside the lift would get ugly. Old, rusting doors slowly rolled open.

The smell hit them first, singed flesh and guts strewn across the brewery. The double-doors connecting it to the restaurant had been blown open, but there was silence. Blessed silence.

Scott squeezed Stiles’s shoulder, before handing one of his pistols to Lori. Stiles did the same with her brother, Brett. He only wished they could arm them all. “We’re going to make sure the building is clear. Stay together and be on your guard. It’s almost over.”

Now familiar with the building’s layout, they made quick work of their search. One mutant escaped the blast while trying to break into the kitchen, and distracted, it was easy to dispose of. The more difficult task came with finding Argents’ remains, and counting just how many of their allies they’d lost. It was cruel to take their belongings, but in the Commonwealth, it was a matter of survival. Friend and foe alike fell to scavengers. Yet one thing gave them hope, Col. Morrell and her team weren’t among the dead. They didn’t need to discuss a thing. One look told Scott exactly what he needed to know, and even though Stiles’s smile was grim, it was no less determined.

“All clear.” They greeted the survivors with a status report that sent a wave of excitement through them. Scott’s announcement was met with cheers he couldn’t yet return. “We’re going to clear out the brewery, as well. “Prepare to leave, but be careful. If you hear anything from the tunnels, if we take longer than ten minutes, head south east towards the Castle. You’ll find food and lodgings there, but… Tell them. What happened to us, to Col. Morrell’s team.” 

The request was a sign of weakness Scott would berate himself for if he had the time, but beside him, Stiles didn’t falter. It was hard not to take comfort in that. Lori dared come closer, her expression solemn but no less determined.

“Thank you,” she whispered in a tired, grateful whisper. Then she barreled closer for a hug. It caught Stiles off-guard, stunned surprise clear as day on his face. He didn’t know her. He didn’t want that from her, but in that moment, all he wanted do was hold on. She turned to hug Scott just the same, and even with all the obstacles facing them, Scott could only wish that she and her friends survived this ordeal. They’d already come so far.

It was difficult to pull away, especially when they had to wade through the carnage they’d designed to find the pipes that would serve as their passage to the adjacent building. They were almost done, Scott reminded himself. It helped when Stiles said the same.

They stood in front of the mouth of the pipeline, both so pointedly aware of how low tired they were, how their bones ached and arms buckled. Stiles quietly offered up his emergency stimpak, but Scott shook his head. They would need it very soon. 

“It’s just you and me, Scotty. Are you sure about this?”

“Nope.” Scott confessed, but he brushed his hand across the back of Stiles’s and offered a pained smile. He swallowed thickly. “But if they’re there, if they need our help, or if… I just need to know for sure.”

Stiles grit his jaw. They could turn back now and no one would judge them. They could get home and tell the Castle anything they wanted to. He had Scott. They had been so lucky already, but if he turned his back on their team, he would never forgive himself. “You’re not allowed to get hurt, got it?”

Scott laughed, an almost hopeful sound that Stiles wanted to make sure he got a chance to hear again.

“Deal.”

Then they were off. They had a flashlight each, but they scarcely felt like enough when the darkness threatened to close in from all sides. They came across other routes, but those were either sealed off or collapsed in. As they went further, water started to flow at their feet, and Scott hated to think about what it would bring in if it got any higher. It helped though. The first sound of splashing that wasn’t _theirs_ had both boys on the lookout, guns ready and aimed.

Out of the darkness, barreling to them at full speed was a mutant mutt. It ran straight into their bullets and died before it could reach their feet. A wave of distress threatened to drag Stiles down. Despite knowing better, he’d hoped that the others would be all right, but a loose mutt wasn’t a good sign. Its master couldn’t be too far away, and losing Scott on top of all this and so soon after everything that happened was unthinkable.

Then a wonderfully familiar voice echoed through the pipes, and the first glimpse of another light shone through the darkness.

“Who goes there? Identify yourself!”

In the middle of a blood bath, with a dead mutant at their feet, almost in the pitch black, the boys laughed, clutching each other hard. “Colonel, it is damn good to hear you!”


	5. Chapter 5

The Minutemen stayed to help bury the dead. It wasn’t what they normally would have done, but their squadron had taken a blow. They’d lost good people. Isaac, Argent, Greta, and Sid had given their lives and would be remembered. They helped the residents of Gwinnet Restaurant remove the corpses and lit a pyre out back to dispose of them. In the end, the settlers decided to stay, but they were warned about further super mutant attacks and the need to beef up security. The brewery’s pipelines caused a problem as well. If the water level got any higher, a whole new breed of trouble would come with it.

They returned to the Castle sooner than any of them expected, but it was a solemn affair. Someone popped open the good food, in something too quiet to be called a celebration, but they honored those who couldn’t be with them. The Minutemen were a brotherhood, born of mutual sacrifices and shared risk, and even if it was impossible to know them all, the sense of loss after battle was a shared hardship.

Scott spent a long time in the shower, trying to scrub memories of the day off of him. The dorms were so much quieter by the time they returned, skin flushed with warmth and body weary with exhaustion. He’d expected to fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, one last attempt at escaping everything that threatened to crush him, but someone was already in his bed. Scott had half a mind to let him sleep, but Stiles still startled himself awake with a throaty snore.

“You lost, bro?” Scott teased, but softly. On the other end of the room, Violet had already fallen asleep with her boots still on. It had been a long day. Stiles snorted at him, but generously inched over, patting the space beside him. They’d only done that once or twice, less often than he would have liked if Scott was being honest with himself. He hesitated now, but only for a second.

Stiles was made up of roughly a thousand elbows and commanded most of Scott’s pillow, but Scott couldn’t imagine being more comfortable. He wound his arm around Stiles’s waist, tucking the other under his head. It was the perfect opening for Stiles to shove himself into Scott’s space, draping himself over the other boy with an eagerness that warmed Scott all the way down to his toes. The ways they touched were filled with a sweet familiarity. If Scott was unsure, Stiles would bully his way past his defenses. If Stiles was keyed up, Scott was the best person to calm him down, even if he could just as easily push him into a frenzy.

The day weighed down on him. Donovan still lingered in the back of Scott’s mind, the man who’d started all the killing. If he’d shot on sight, they could have bought themselves time or mounted a better defense against the mutants. His death had been necessary, but watching another man die left his heart beating too quickly. Donovan was another person, someone _human_ , so unlike the feral ghouls or mutants that they put down or any of the other beasts that prowled Commonwealth that they were taught to fear. It was naïve to think they could have saved him, too, but Scott wished they had the option to try. His claims still resonated with him; they were hard to dismiss altogether as the ravings of a mad man. If they’d found another way, maybe Scott wouldn’t have had to dig through the pockets of the man who saved his life or find the pieces of Argent’s beaten body.

Their friends had died as heroes. Now it was their job to endure.

“Hey, Scott. Still with me?”

“Sorry… Trying to stop thinking.” Scott mumbled. “It’s been a stressful day. I keep thinking I could’ve done something differently.”

“Maybe. But maybe you wouldn’t be here. You can’t save everyone, Scott.” Stiles whispered. “You’re only human. You can’t – you can’t keep running into danger like that.”

Something clenched in Scott’s chest, and he pressed in closer, letting Stiles tighten his grip around him as he collapsed in his arms. Stiles pulled back just far enough that he could look him in the eye and carefully ran a hand down Scott’s cheek. It was almost funny, how easily such a simple touch could knock Scott off kilter, making him shiver all the way down to his toes, but Stiles quietly craved the look on his best friend when he came undone. Stiles dared ask, “Was it all stress?”

“No… Not all of it.” Scott couldn’t help but grin, unable to shy away from how Stiles look at him, trying so hard to play the question off as nothing when his mouth was pinched so tight, his lips almost disappeared. They were thin enough as it was.

“Thought so.” Stiles grinned, even as he tried to hide a relieved sigh. “I liked that a lot. Can we do it next time without all the almost dying?”

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of dying,” Scott agreed. The wounds were too fresh. Their jokes came with a price, but Scott cracked a smile as he nuzzled in, turning Stiles into his personal towel. It made him feel a little braver. “You know, we should do it again, just to make sure.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, now that we’re not almost dying, we ought to see if it’s-”

But Scott never got to finish what he was saying. Stiles’s lips were chapped but sweet, his hands framing Scott’s as he drew him in for a kiss that lingered. When they pulled away, Scott’s heart was beating in his chest, threatening to burst, and Stiles affectionately petted his hip. “Anyone ever tell you that your heroism is really, really attractive, Scotty?”

“You’re a giant nerd.” Scott let out a low, rumbling laugh, and bumped their noses together as he cuddled close. This didn’t solve anything, but even after everything they’d been through, Scott slept easier than he had in weeks.

In the morning they would have more people join their ranks, and they made arrangements to meet the families of the deceased. The trek to meet Isaac’s brother would be one of the most painful things Scott had ever experienced. Slowly, they put themselves back together again. It was a heavy lesson they had to learn. In the Commonwealth, loss was consistent in their lives, but as Minutemen that reality became all the more tangible. They took their missions. They went where they were summoned. The next time they went up against super mutants, there were no casualties on their side, but the time after that, they lost another colleague.

“We could walk away,” Stiles said once, pressed against him to escape the breeze. Their perch for the night was a rickety old barn that barely kept out the rad storm howling outside. It was better than what they were used to on the road, but settlements were happy to lend a hand to the Minutemen (especially Minutemen who weren’t trying to charge for their efforts). They were wasting precious time that they should have been spending asleep, but Stiles had his hand on Scott’s hip, and his mouth on his pulse, and sleep lost its allure. “Go back to Diamond City, we did good, and this time of year, they have lights up, and everyone breaks out their trees.”

“Maybe,” Scott said, turning in his grip to face him. Stiles knew that wasn’t really an answer, just like Scott knew that really wasn’t a question. Perhaps someday they’d have reason to leave the Minutemen, but first, they’d have to stop feeling like they were doing good. Doing each other helped, too. His hands wandered, and Stiles let them. They had to be careful. If they made too much noise, Violet would throw a sock at them in the morning. She lost a lot of socks that way. 

For a long time, life was good, or as good as it could be, fighting monsters and protecting the innocent. They had something to fight for, which was still more than most people in the Commonwealth, and they had each other, which Scott thought made him the luckiest person in the world. Lexington changed everything. What started as a routine patrol was interrupted by a squad of Raiders. It was the beginning of the end before they even knew it.

What Stiles remembered most clearly about that day was the certainty that they were winning. The Raiders were retreating, arrogant and out of control to the last, but their numbers were thinning. They’d turned Main St. into a blood bath, but the Minutemen were pressing their advantage, and he remembered wanting to ask Scott if he was shooting with his eyes closed.

He didn’t see the Partystarter come out, but he heard Violet’s scream. Then all at once, Scott was running at him, screaming his name, and Stiles watched in horror as bullets pierced his side, tearing through him, but Scott kept running. He reached for Stiles, throwing him backwards just as an impossible heat surrounded them. Stiles was thrown from the blast site, but so was the fool reckless enough to set off the missile launcher.

Slowly, Stiles tried to push himself to his feet when his legs wouldn’t move. His entire body throbbed, and he wasn’t sure he would survive long enough to grab a stimpak, but he couldn’t worry about that. Across the street, a figure was hobbling towards through him, coughing as he waded through the smoke.

“Stiles…” Scott croaked, voice shot to shit, but alive and safe and everything Stiles needed. Stiles let out an equally breathless groan, trying to catch his attention. They could worry about everything else once they were out of here, once they were both safe! But as the smoke cleared, horror dawned with painful clarity.

Scott’s clothes were singed, his entire left arm blackened with ash, but the worst part was his face. The blast had torn half of it off, and beneath peeling, charred skin were wires and steel.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference List
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>  
> 
>  
> 
>  **Turo:** Arturo Rodriguez  
>  **Nut Hill:** Chestnut Hillock Reservoir
> 
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> 
> Written by [Dans](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)


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